My Listening Man (Sexually graphic and explicit)

Who's that lady?

Purdey Childs lopped painfully into the posh Canary Wharf Riverside Bar in her high heels. Stupidly she'd left her trainers in the gym locker out of some misplaced sense of vanity and now her feet were suffering.

It had been a tough workout and the never-ending heatwave only made her perspire even more despite the cool shower she'd had in the gym afterwards. Salvation would now come in the form of a cold drink - so without hesitation she headed straight to the quiet bar flustered, tired after an equally busy day at the office.

There was a desperate need to unwind.

'My usual please, Simon' she said gasping in a mixed Kiwi-British accent as her laptop case and heavy gym bag dropped to the floor.

Patrons had yet to arrive in full force so the gastro-pub was relatively quiet and it fitted exactly into her plans. Purdey's throat yearned for a glass of vodka and coke . . . or two . . . or three and she'd be out of there - just in time before the young professionals started to waltz in.

'Here you go, miss,' Simon the young, blond and handsome bartender said as he placed a pristine clean glass filled half-way with the infusion in front of the dry-throated and grateful Purdey.

'Thanks Simon - you're a gem. Put that on my tab, OK?' She grabbed the glass, took a quick sip and it was just what the doctor ordered as the ice cubes collided with her quivering lips sending a chill through her aching body. Purdey smacked her lips together in appreciation then slowly placed the glass down on the bar. Her legs and butt were heavy from the insane Poomsqueeze exercise regime so she needed to sit down and regain some strength back in her limbs before the journey home.

Purdey hated and loved the hour-long sessions in equal measure because Ricardo, the keep-fit trainer, was a slave driver even though he made sure the ladies enjoyed the punishing workouts. Maybe it was his Jamaican accent that got them going or the not so concealed bulge in his tight trunks - she couldn't tell, but he always got the most out of the class and was by far the best instructor she'd ever come across.

At least I'll have a few days off to recover Purdey thought with a sigh as her gaze turned over to where her favourite seat was located - next to the window where she could watch the boats travel down the narrow river lane and loved up couples walking dreamily down the embankment. The scene was especially romantic on days like these when the sun stayed up long into the evening with the warm temperature giving London a slightly Mediterranean mood.

Feeling sore, she picked up her bags and took a few short steps across the marble floor to find that her space was already occupied. Typical, she thought to herself angrily as she got to the table and stood over the man who was seated scribbling without a care in the world on his iPad oblivious to her presence.

'Ahem!' Purdey coughed as her shadow loomed over him. She got no reaction. 'Ahem!' again and louder this time, which did the trick. The man looked up, gave her a cursory dismissive glance before turning his attention back to his tablet.

Of all the obnoxious- Purdey fumed inwardly as she scanned the man over with a look that could kill.

He was Afro-Caribbean, mid to late thirties possibly, although from first glance she couldn't tell if he was African or from the Caribbean. His hair was cut low and trimmed neatly at the sides to sideburns that ended just over his cheekbones. Purdey guessed he was a businessperson of some sort judging by the designer spectacles and the tight light pink TM Lewin shirt, which hugged his muscular body. An impressive looking male specimen no doubt, but right now, nothing else mattered more to her than to get him to vacate her table.